


sometimes it just feels like we're a little stuck in time and nothing is quite enough even when all is well

by paperpenpal



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Ingrid is a knight, No Beta, Post-Canon, Romance, Sylvain is the Margrave, a conversation about marriage, almost like a snippet out of something greater, brainworm got me, lots of talking, several years after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 12:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30005091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal
Summary: “Hey, so, I was thinking, should we get married?”Ingrid freezes halfway through putting her shirt on.  Sylvain has shifted up to rest his back against the headboard, watching her as she dresses.  He’d shown up out of the blue in her quarters in Fhirdiad with a bottle of wine and a smile on his face.They’ve been doing this forever.  Ever since the war’s end.  Perhaps, maybe even before that.  It’s been good for so long.  Ingrid’s not sure what’s changed.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	sometimes it just feels like we're a little stuck in time and nothing is quite enough even when all is well

“Hey, so, I was thinking, should we get married?”

Ingrid freezes halfway through putting her shirt on. Sylvain has shifted up to rest his back against the headboard, watching her as she dresses. He’d shown up out of the blue in her quarters in Fhirdiad with a bottle of wine and a smile on his face. 

They’ve been doing this forever. Ever since the war’s end. Perhaps, maybe even before that. It’s been good for so long. Ingrid’s not sure what’s changed. 

“Sylvain,” she sighs, finishing her buttons and then turning to face him. “What brought this on?”

He frowns but does not look hurt. Not really at least. If anything, he only looks pensive and perhaps a little curious. Older too, although that is hardly a bad thing. In the early morning light, with the sun casting light into her small room from the window, Sylvain still looks as handsome as ever. “Is it so bad of an idea?”

“It’s sudden,” Ingrid says as she turns away again to dig through her drawers for some pants. “I thought we talked about this.”

She hears Sylvain shuffle a bit behind her but it doesn’t sound like he’s gotten out of bed. Normally he joins her or tries to pull her back underneath the covers, but he does not do so today. 

“Is it really though?” he says. “It’s been years, Ingrid. And I’m not really sure we ever actually talked about it.”

Ingrid huffs. She abandons her pursuit through her clothes and turns. Sylvain is staring at her. His expression is hard to read. Years of diplomacy and being Sylvain has made him good at obscuring his thoughts but he doesn’t usually hide them from her. It has been a long time since he has. “I’m just-” she chews her lip, trying to find a way to say it that doesn’t sound terrible but she is much worse with words than Sylvain is. It is why she is not a diplomat. It is why she still wields her lance this many years after the war’s end. She decides to be blunt. It’s easier. “Sylvain, is your sudden inclination towards marriage because you want to get married or because you’re in crisis?”

This time, Sylvain does look hurt. Ingrid regrets her words immediately. She opens her mouth to apologize but Sylvain cuts in before she can.

“Can’t it be both?”

The silence between them stretches onwards for too long. Ingrid doesn’t know what to say. Sylvain doesn’t seem to either. He looks sad, sadder than she’s seen him in a long time. Since the war perhaps, but sadness in war is different. It’s heightened and aggressive. It’s too much and all at once. This sadness in Sylvain does not look like that. This looks like the kind of weight that sits on his shoulders before sinking into the rest of his body, deep enough to crack his bones.

Ingrid knows it well. 

She opens her mouth to say something but Sylvain shakes his head with an impatient huff. “No, you’re right,” he says, throwing his covers off. “It’s sudden. And stupid. Just forget I said anything.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ingrid says, crossing the room to sit at the edge of the bed beside him. He pauses in his movement as she reaches for his hand. She’s grateful that he doesn’t pull away. When he squeezes her hand, she finds the words to continue. “Sylvain, what’s going on?”

“I miss you,” he says simply. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says. “I don’t see how getting married changes that.”

“Isn’t it an extension of it?” he says, “or at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be.”

Ingrid frowns, staring at their hands together. “Since when?”

Sylvain’s sigh is heavy. Ingrid is not surprised by it. What she’s surprised by is how he’s changed. Sylvain has never put that much stock in marriage. In truth, Ingrid hasn’t either, not in a very long time, not since Glenn and all the things that came with his name. 

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. “So that’s a no?”

Ingrid frowns. She doesn’t like hearing that back to herself. “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay,” Sylvain’s eyebrows furrow and the quirk of his lips is so charming that Ingrid considers kissing him but it’s hardly the time for it. “now I’m confused.”

“I love you,” Ingrid says, running her thumb against the back of his hand with the smile that always comes with those words, “but you’re right. We never talked about it. So let’s talk.”

“Where do you want to start?” Sylvain asks.

Her stomach grumbles, Sylvain laughs. The tension eases just a bit. “Breakfast maybe?”

* * *

Ingrid makes a short run into the kitchen while Sylvain readies for the morning in her room. She manages to delay her duties for the day, which is not particularly difficult or surprising to anyone who has seen Sylvain running about the castle. They are not a secret, although, perhaps they should be. 

They tried to be, at one point for a period of time, but it’s been ten years. It seems pointless to pretend otherwise, and honestly, the older they get, the less anyone seems to care. 

She cares less too. Back then, she used to desperately try to hide him, like a dirty shameful secret when Sylvain is anything but that. Sylvain is a lot of things but she is not ashamed of him. In fact, Ingrid is very much certain that he is the love of her life. 

But they are in different places. He stays in Gautier for much of the year and Ingrid spends most of her time in Fhirdiad or on assignment everywhere across the continent. The war may be years long passed but there is still work to be done.

There will always be work to be done. 

She’s also shed her title. With the death of his father, Sylvain has claimed his.

It’s complicated.

She returns to him with a tray. Sylvain is dressed, technically, but he’s hardly bothered to ready himself properly for the day. It’s clear that he has no plans of exiting her room anytime soon. They might not care very much about a secret that no longer exists but there is still some sense of keeping up an appearance, especially now that everyone addresses Sylvain as Margrave.

“I thought you were getting dressed,” Ingrid says as he lets her into the room. She deposits their breakfast onto the desk as he shuts the door.

“I thought you liked me rugged?” She hears. When she turns, Sylvain is rubbing his jaw. “I even grew out my beard for you.”

Ingrid eyes his face. Sylvain has aged so well that it’s almost unfair. In fact, he looks better than he did in his youth when the signs of war wore him more than time ever could. “You didn’t do a very good job of it,” she teases. And it’s true, at most, he has some shadow on him, which is a shame because she does like him with a beard. “It’s just a bit of stubble.”

“In my defense,” he says as he approaches, “this trip was unplanned.”

He had said as much last night. From what little conversation they had between the wine and other activities, it doesn’t sound like he’ll be able to stay for very long. 

Ingrid reaches for the glasses that he left on her desk and helps him slide them onto his face. 

He blinks at her with a warm smile as she steps back to lean against the desk. “You look much prettier when you’re not blurry,” he says.

Ingrid laughs. “You could always just keep them on.”

“Or,” Sylvain’s voice is low as he steps up to her. Her hands automatically find her favorite spot around his neck, “I could just get close enough to see you clearly.” 

He leans down for a kiss that Ingrid readily returns. It turns out there is just enough beard that she’s willing to forgive him for this one minor transgression. 

She pulls back with a smile. He’s smiling too, which is a relief, given how they started the morning but there’s still that something else in him. 

Ingrid untangles from him and reaches for the tea she knows he likes, pushing the mug between them. He takes it easily enough and settles next to her against the desk. 

“Wish we could stay like this forever,” he says quietly.

Ingrid hums, staring down at the plate on the tray that has all the bacon. She takes a moment to select what she thinks is the crispiest one. “I don’t think I’d mind that,” she says before nibbling on it.

“Then why don’t we?”

Ingrid sighs. “I don’t know, Sylvain, why don’t we?”

There’s a lot of reasons why. 

Sylvain doesn’t answer her immediately, he takes a sip out of his cup instead. “I know,” he says, despite Ingrid having hardly said anything at all. “But it’s nice to think about.”

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about lately?”

“You haven’t?”

It would be a lie to say she hasn’t thought about it. She thinks about it every time Sylvain is with her. She thinks about waking up with him every day. She thinks about all their stolen moments and how she can beg off a day of her duties just because of who they are and who they know. “All the time.”

He snorts. “Not so sudden then.”

Ingrid frowns but leans her head against his shoulder anyway. “Nothing’s changed though, so yes, it’s still kind of sudden.” 

He blows the steam off of his mug, staring into his drink. It gives him the extra moment to gather his thoughts. “Maybe things should change.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Ingrid says, fishing for another piece of bacon. Unfortunately, all of it looks unappetizing right now, even as her stomach still grumbles. “But I’m not sure getting married is the answer.”

Sylvain leans one hand back against the edge of the desk, gripping tight onto the edge. “It could be a good thing.”

“It could,” Ingrid considers, “but it could also be needlessly complicated. And I’m not convinced it’ll change a lot, to be honest, or maybe it could change everything.”

“Those are contradictory statements, Ingrid.”

“I’m just saying that we might not have thought this through very much. What will getting married do?”

“We haven’t thought this through because we haven’t talked about it.”

“We’re talking about it now aren’t we?”

Sylvain lets out a long breath. He places his cup back down and leans back against the desk, closing his eyes, probably envisioning the world he wants. “I just miss you,” he says, “I want to spend my life with you.”

Ingrid frowns and steps in front of him. Sylvain’s eyes are still closed. Her hands reach out to his jaw, tracing her fingers against him. “Who said that you wouldn’t?”

His eyes open, the expression on his face is soft, fond. She feels his hands snake around her waist. “I want more time with you,” he says.

“I would love more time with you,” she says. “But I’m here and you’re there. And I’m not ready to be done here and you can’t abandon what you’ve started there.”

Sylvain’s head falls into her shoulder, glasses digging into her, although she doesn't mind. He seems to though, because, after a moment of shifting, he takes them off to place them back down on the desk before he returns to rest against her. Ingrid can't help but smile as her fingers lace through his hair before she presses a kiss to his crown. 

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain says. “I’m not trying to pressure you -”

“I don’t think you’re pressuring me.” 

“You sound like you think I’m pressuring you.” 

“I don’t mean for it to sound accusatory,” Ingrid sighs. “But logistically, if we get married, I’d be expected to leave and join you.”

“We’ve defied a lot of expectations over the years. No one expected you to shed your title either, Sir Ingrid.” He peeks up at her with a proud smile before borrowing back into her. 

“Okay, so we get married and I stay at my post and you end up mostly in Gautier anyway. That doesn’t solve the problem we have.”

Sylvain groans and leans away. “I know,” he says. “It’s okay, Ingrid. You can just say you don’t want to get married.”

“I still haven’t said that.”

“It sort of sounds like you’re saying that.”

Sylvain can be so frustrating sometimes but she supposes he’s not wrong. She just doesn’t want to talk in circles forever either. “I’m just trying to figure this out. You never wanted to get married. You’ve made that very clear over the years, so where is this all coming from?”

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. He seems frustrated too. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I’ve just been feeling kind of-”

He cuts himself off so abruptly that it scares Ingrid. There’s just something in his expression that compels her to reach for his hand again, as if she’s afraid that if she doesn’t, she’ll never get another chance to. She pulls his hand away from his head and holds it gently in hers. The relief she feels when he weaves their fingers together is good but it doesn’t soothe the sudden rush of adrenaline within her. Sylvain, she can tell, notices. 

He brings her hand to his lips and gently kisses it before clasping onto it with both hands.

“Sylvain,” she says. Although she’s not really sure why.

“Lonely,” he says. “The manor is lonely. You’re here and everyone else is-” his breath is shaky as he breathes out, his eyes dart downward away from hers and down onto her shoes, “-I just feel like everyone is where they’re supposed to be except for me.”

It breaks her heart. Ingrid can see it now. He hides it so well from her when they’re together but perhaps that’s because they are so rarely together except for in these brief spurts of time where they get to be happy. She doesn’t get to see him alone, in that house he hates with no one around.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to be,” Sylvain says before she can ask. “I just know that I want to be with you.”

Ingrid doesn’t have the answer he wants. In a perfect world, she would marry him in a heartbeat. They would find a chapel somewhere in the country and she would marry him in a ceremony just for them. They would see each other every single day. She would wake with him close and his name would carry no title either. 

It is a good dream. It is not this reality. Not yet at least. Not anytime soon. 

“I want to be with you, Sylvain,” she says. Her heart aches. Her breath is shaky too and she squeezes the hand that tethers them together. “But no, I don’t want to marry you. Not if the reason is because you don’t know what else to do.”

Sylvain looks crushed, although not surprised. “It is sort of a terrible reason, isn’t it? Not very romantic of me.”

“It’s not the worst reason I’ve heard,” she says. She’s been through worse reasons. He has too, she knows. “I thought surprising me with a bottle of wine and flowers after a long week was pretty romantic, if that helps.”

“Would it be more romantic if I said that I don’t have any other reason to be here other than you?” 

Ingrid laughs, although she probably shouldn’t. She should probably scold him for abandoning his duties just because he missed her but she can’t bring herself to when she has done the exact same. Time has a funny way of smoothing out some of her harder edges, although that could also just be because of Sylvain.

She steps further into his space and lays her head against the crook of his shoulder. His hands wrap around her waist again. “One day,” Ingrid says, “when we can figure this all out, or, I don’t know, if something changes - you can try asking me again.”

“And do this again?” Sylvain’s voice is light, joking even, although still honest. “I’m not sure my heart can take it. No, next time, you can ask me.”

Ingrid snorts. “Fair enough,” she says. “Regardless, married or not. I’m with you. I love you. That’s not going to change anytime soon.”

“It better not.” 

“It won’t,” Ingrid promises. This, at least, Sylvain seems to believe. He pulls her closer against him and she lets herself settle into his body. 

It’s calming, to feel his heart beat against his chest, even if she still worries for him. She can sense that there’s still a lot he hasn’t told her that he’s sorting out but she plans to be here for him through it all. “I’m here,” she says again. “Even if I’m not always actually with you, Sylvain.”

“I know, Ingrid.” 

She hopes desperately that it’s enough for now. 


End file.
